


The Dictator From Piltover

by Scottie



Series: The Dictator from Piltover [2]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Abusive relationships (both romantic and not), Angst, Character Deaths, Evolution Jayce AU, Main pairing takes a while to show up, More tags later, Multi, Violence, eventual smut in later chapters, good to bad, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottie/pseuds/Scottie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jayce finds himself suddenly without a rival, a right arm, and purpose. There, in his forlorn state of mind, grasping at a fading past and a future of his own making he finds purpose once more. Though, this 'purpose' and ambition may not be as righteous as one might expect, but nonetheless, his aim is true and he will see this world crumble at his feet. </p><p>There is no happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prologue After

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! You had this one coming for a long while. I've been tirelessly thinking about this au for so long. I've wanted to write it, but I never felt it was good enough to capture what I had in my head. Even now it's the same. Yet, I will persevere. I have many arcs in my mind for this fic and you guys will hate me. If you're looking for refuge in the relationships I throw Jayce into then know that they always tend to end horribly. Except for his last relationship at the end. You'll see. :3
> 
> Thank you for all the support and feedback! 
> 
> Perhaps I'll come back and rewrite chapters to make them better, but for now I'll post them!

“ _ Fantasy. Lunacy. _

All revolutions are, until they happen, then they are historical inevitabilities.” 

― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

 

 

Blitzcrank found him in a shell of metal, death biding his time in the corner with a bottle in each hand, waiting for him to ripen so that he may pluck him from Heaven’s tree. He didn’t react to Blitzcrank’s presence at first. If he noticed he chose not to be concerned. Blitzcrank stationed himself beside him and spoke. 

“Jayce Nathaniel Wilson,” it said, peering at the man through machine eyes. His face was sunken and large, black circles had grown like fairy crowns around his faded blue eyes. His cheekbones were prominent. Blitzcrank could see a faint smile twist onto his sallow visage. Jayce shifted, the folds of his cloak were like small little mountain ridges. A low but cheerful voice escaped him. 

“No one has called me that for a long, long time,” he mused, thinking as if some fond memory had danced along his tongue and he could still taste the faintness of cotton candy. Then it was gone. “What can I do for ya, son of my late enemy?” Blitzcrank cocked his head at that. 

“I want to know the story.”

Jayce paused.

“About?” 

“How it all started. How you became like this.”

This, was Blitzcrank’s only way to describe what Jayce had become. He didn’t mean to make it sound negative, but connotation is a powerful thing. Jayce smiled then laughed slowly, his metal arm peeking out from beneath his cloak. This, was something vague, something Jayce could only inwardly scoff at.

Now here, by himself in this dark, desolate place, Jayce had come to die. He had been dying. A sickness he had endured for long enough was making its last dinner out of him and he didn’t know whether or not to be frightened at the prospect of death or delighted. 

Jayce looked at Blitzcrank again. He saw the clean and smooth metal, the way some soft puffs of steam rolled out from his pipes. He smiled, warmed by the sight of this golem. It was nostalgic and he found himself taken by the memories of a life that seemed like some sort of fairytale compared to the reality of now. 

He could regret, Jayce considered this. He could regret all that he had done and achieved by sacrificing that easy and simple life. But he knew his answer even before the thought struck him. He wouldn’t. There were too many reasons not to and Jayce thought of  _ him _ . He thought of his dark hair and smoky eyes, and _him_ dying. He remembered the moments between them and Jayce felt his heart brace against itself. 

Jayce smiled then began.

“The day I woke up in that hospital I knew that I had already changed…” 


	2. Wake Up and Put on a Little Make Up

There was dirt in his mouth and there was blood. It was strange, as if he had watched it all in slow motion. It wasn’t his life flashing before his eyes it was Viktor. He was there then he was gone. Jayce couldn’t hear a thing, his ears deafened and only the strange ringing that seemed so far off was spiraling inside his head.

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor; where was he? That was all Jayce could think of before everything went black and a comfortable darkness enveloped him as if meaning to never let him go. Jayce didn’t mind it and for the first time in his life he felt peace.

Calm.

Then there was pain.

He could hear ringing again, could feel hands over his skin, pulling his body and he wasn’t aware that he’d been struggling. His throat was raw and he couldn’t talk. There was pain and then there was black again. Shapes blended back into nothing. It wasn’t painless anymore now.

He was aware of the acute pain that dulled his senses through his unconsciousness and he was aware soon after that he could hear the beeps. Small, quiet beeps as if to lull him into a deeper sleep, to tell him it was alright and he wanted to listen to it. He wanted to believe but he just couldn’t, and then there was consciousness. He didn’t dream and it didn’t surprise him.

There were flowers. That was the first thing he noticed. Many, many flowers as if he had just woken up at his own funeral, the room whitewashed and bright sunlight streaming through open curtains. His breathing was labored but steady and he focused on this, eyes closed once more to try to realign himself once more against the world. He knew where he was and it sent a twisting snake into his stomach. He hated hospitals.

Beneath his lips he could almost see that scene again, the morning light, the way the dust gathered in her wrinkles. He felt his pulse quicken then slow. He remembered the softness of her voice and her hand in his. Enough.

Jayce clenched his hands into fists. Hand. He hesitated, didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t have to see to know. Just hand. Singular. One hand. Not two. Incomplete.

He didn’t have a right arm.

The hours that followed were surrounded by doctors and nurses. Then there was Caitlyn and Vi. There were some other people. His cousin Dale and his aging parents. Then there was more people. Some he recognized and some he didn’t. He couldn’t talk yet, but they still asked questions. He was too tired to be irritated and so fell in and out of sleep.

Caitlyn told him everything.

He and Viktor had been caught in the blast of a bomb planted beneath the railroad tracks right where the train would pull into the station. She hadn’t asked why they had been there (of course, he couldn’t even talk), but then told him instead something more atrocious and outlandish than her knowing he had met up with the man.

Viktor was dead. He had made it with just losing an arm and a mild concussion. Viktor not so much. If he had not been so stuck in disbelief and able to talk he would have retorted, ‘Well all that metal didn’t really help him did it?’

In his silence he contemplated this. Sometimes he believed it, that he was truly dead, and others he just couldn’t bring himself to insult the man like that. Caitlyn told him the next day she came that they had taken the body back to Zaun. Viktor’s closest and most successful acolyte had taken it into his custody and they hadn’t heard about him since. There was no funeral, no word and at times it drove Jayce crazy just thinking about it.

A part of him felt that it was unfair. That he lived instead of Viktor, that Viktor didn’t get a funeral, and that question that troubled him the most kept swirling in eddies inside his mind. He didn’t even want to think about it now but it was there in the back of his mind as he tried to sleep but couldn’t calm his heart.

Where did he go from here?

The fourth day Jayce had begun to regain his voice. It sounded raw and slurred and he could only speak a few sentences before falling back to steadying his own breathing. The next day was easier. This time he could sit up and speak normally. He called over Vi and Caitlyn with a cheerful holler when he saw their faces slip past the glass from the side windows. Vi was the first one in, almost knocking down the door assaulting Jayce if Caitlyn hadn’t grasped her by the collar and told her to heel like a good dog. It had Jayce laughing and then hunching over because it hurt like hell.

The fifth day they told him they would keep him there for another two weeks until he could walk properly and had a psychological assessment, the works. The times he wasn’t out and doing physical therapy he was stuck in bed. He had already watched a whole ten seasons of SuperParanormal and PBC’s Mannible.

Then there were the times he thought and that was the most terrible part of being alone. He was left with his own anger and confusion.

* * *

“Did you feel for Viktor?”

Jayce paused in his story, glancing up at Blitzcrank as if he had heard this accusation before many times yet somehow it still surprised him. The large robot rested beside Jayce without looking at him, listening.

“I did, at one point,” Jayce said slowly. “Then I didn’t. There could’ve been something if we had been given more time. Perhaps things would not have turned out this way, but do I regret? No, I don’t.” Jayce gathered himself up in his worn cloak, closing his tired eyes. “Have you ever heard the saying: No matter how many of us you kill, you will never kill your successor?” Blitzcrank didn't reply. 

“You went to Noxus didn’t you?” He asked abruptly, as if Jayce's words reminded him of that country. Jayce waved his hand dismissively, a long and heavy paw. “We’ll get to that soon enough. We’re not even close to that arc of the story.” Jayce smiled humorously then dove in once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was going to add the next chapter into this one, but I wanted to edit it a bit more and decide where I want to go with the direction of this arc. So, you'll get a longer chapter next time! o/


	3. Hospital Stay

Recovering had been a rough road but not an impossible one. Jayce had been in far worse situations (he just never had the result turn out like this). The coolness of air hitting the area where he no longer had an arm still surprised him though, shocked him into a reality that he wanted to avoid. It tickled slightly and sometimes the flesh would throb with some slight pain that he tried to suppress. 

He couldn’t hide it from the doctor though. 

The doctor, a tall and angular man with short black hair and a very solemn mein was in charge of his recovery. He was handsome. Dark eyes that met all with an intensity that scrutinized and took you apart; there was something familiar about him. He had a slight accent that made his Rs roll and his words come out much sharper as if he had been studying the dictionary a little too closely. He was astute and hardly anything escaped him. 

“Are you avoiding your medication again, Mr. Wilson?” he had asked, eyes narrowed and gaze cool. Jayce’s last name was spoken slowly with deliberation. Dr. Nobokov had a clipboard tucked into his left arm. Jayce laughed nervously, leaning back into the comfort of his hospital bed as if he could escape through it from the menacing doctor before him. He scratched at the scruff of his chin and smiled sheepishly. “Aw, y’know I don’t like taking them, doc. They make me too drowsy. I’ve had enough of sleeping already.”

Nobokov did not relent easily, thin lips pressed together, displeased but somewhat understanding. “Well, if you’re feeling well enough, then how about you and I have a nice walk, Mr. Wilson?” Somehow his words seemed a little threatening, but despite it Jayce found himself agreeing excitedly, too eager to leave his bed. Dr. Nobokov helped Jayce from the bed, using his arm to support him, hand pressed firmly against his lower back. They left for the courtyard. It was a small space with towering trees and swaying grass. The path was paved with cobblestone and wooden tables were set out for people to have lunch at. Jayce often saw employees and families take breaks out here from his window.  

He could walk fairly easily now as well, but sometimes there was sudden weaknesses in his legs which would cause them to refuse to move. He remembered the day he had gone wandering without help. He had almost fallen down a couple flights of stairs if Dr. Nobokov hadn’t been there. He told Jayce that they were sure that one of his kneecaps had been permanently weakened from the blast and the impact of his body being crush beneath the trainwreck. At least he could still walk though and Jayce was indeed grateful for that. He’d just be one of those memorable characters from television shows with a bad knee and a sassy personality.   

It was chilly outside. Summer was waning and soon fall would take its place inside the city. The trees were still green, twisting and swaying in the breeze. The sky was clear and Jayce could not see a single cloud overhead. The evening light glinted against skyscrapers like tiny scales beneath sunset waters. Nobokov paused them in front of a bird’s nest tucked high in a maple tree. He gazed upon it quietly and Jayce found it oddly reassuring to be with him like this. Gazing at the birdnest reminded Jayce of his grandfather and how they used to make bird houses in that small workshop of his.  

Then there was that familiarity. That blasted familiarity that he couldn’t wrap his mind around. He reminded Jayce of somebody. Or maybe he had met him once before. Perhaps on his own routines around the city. It wouldn’t have surprised him if that was the case. 

“I read your profile, I hope you can forgive me,”  The doctor admitted suddenly, his voice low as if they could be overheard. Jayce peered at him curiously, noticing that they were about the same height. 

“No need to apologize, doc. You are my doctor after all. It’s not like I can hide anything from you. Not even the fact that I snuck some pudding!” He almost got away with it too. Nobokov smiled and Jayce found it charming.

“That is true, but I feel I was intruding on a bit too much. I did further research than just reading your profile, Mr. Wilson. I didn’t expect..” Nobokov trailed off. He could have hinted at many things. There was much that most people didn’t know about Jayce. Trying to figure out which was it that Nobokov was hinting at was a difficult thing. Jayce cocked his head slightly in question. 

Nobokov cleared his throat, his hand still firm against Jayce’s back, possibly even firmer than before. “That you’re Zaunite.” 

Ah. 

Jayce smiled slightly. “Half,” he corrected. “Half,” Nobokov reaffirmed. Jayce chuckled lightly then elbowed him in a playful manner. “But keep it a secret between you and I. Who knows what the public would do if they knew that their hero was half Zaunite.” Nobokov nodded then smiled slightly as if he had thought of something amusing. 

“I too am Zaunite. Full Zaunite,” he said, the term like something awkward in his mouth. It explained his careful accent, much like Viktor’s. Perhaps that’s why he seemed familiar. Their shoulders bumped lightly together and a cold breeze rustled their clothes and tossed their hair. Jayce was feeling suddenly tired.

“I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable. I don’t often talk with others, especially now that I work here. They are not kind to our kin.” Nobokov appeared meek, head bowed slightly and a dark, curling lock of hair hanging against his temple. Jayce pushed it away, chuckling. Odd to think that a Zaunite, a doctor would seek comfort from a patient. His features and cool attitude did little to change the fact that the man was actually quite warm, much different from the Zaunite stereotype. 

Still, it felt a bit strange. He had never been thought of as an ally  just because of his Zaunite side. It was strange but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

“You’re not,” Jayce said after a moment, drawing back and letting his hand fall back down from his face. Their shoulders bumped again and he shrugged. “Why’d you come to Piltover?” The doctor mulled over this, pressing his hand against Jayce again to encourage him to start walking. He did. It was beginning to get a little too cold and they slowly made their way back inside, the sun setting almost completely behind them. 

“Many reasons,” he said vaguely, his tongue pressed behind his bottom teeth. Jayce often did this too when he was thinking of what to say. The hospital was warm when they returned and Jayce was glad for it. Being in a hospital gown didn’t exactly keep certain places warm. 

“Main one being that I didn’t like it there. Acid rain, smog, strife. People in Zaun aren’t exactly kind either, not that here is much better. At least for a Zaunite man like myself.” The doctor laughed softly and Jayce felt a warmth and sympathy fill him. The man really did look better smiling and laughing as he was doing now. He felt privileged to be able to witness it. He silently cursed those who had made him stow it away as if he needed to keep himself in a vault just to feel precious. 

From the first day they met, his impression of Nobokov was that he was serious and stoic being with eyes only for his work. He scolded Jayce, watched him with a hawk eye, and made sure he didn’t slack on anything that would help his recovery. Jayce liked him. 

The day after their walk he learned his first name. 

“Horace,” the doctor had replied promptly, flipping through some papers then writing something down on a sheet, his pen strokes quick and precise. 

The next day he learned that Horace was about five years younger than him. 

“No way,” Jayce said, eyes wide. Horace rolled his eyes. Jayce was going off his rocker. “No waaaaayyy.” Horace sighed, pen tapping against his clipboard. “Is it really surprising?” Jayce nodded mutely, still stunned. He then waved his hands wildly, motioning to Horace then to himself. “I’m old!” Jayce exclaimed in despair. “Jayce-”

“Old!” 

Horace rolled his eyes again.   

His days went by faster like this with Horace warming up to him. Everyone could see their bond and the nurses commented that they never knew that Horace could smile like that. He had become more approachable and they thanked him. Jayce didn’t give his worries any room to haunt him either. He knew he was putting it off. He still hadn’t accepted Viktor’s death completely. It was still too surreal and his time in the hospital helped him forget about the world. Then a few days before his release he began thinking. 

His own despair was apparent. It wasn’t just the loss of his arm, it was the lost of his own purpose and the life he had built up for himself on the foundation of a rivaling relationship. Where did he go from here? Find some new rival from Zaun to fight? No. There was no one who could replace Viktor. Of course he could still work as some sort of peacemaker. No, it was just too dull, too.. Too empty.

Should he just go on living as he had before he met his rival? It had been so long, Jayce had almost forgotten the life he had lead before becoming Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow. He had left the man he was before behind when he had defeated Viktor in that one battle that started it all, when his grandmother had passed away. His grandfather’s wedding ring had held him through that battle and by the end of it he was no longer bound by that life before. He shed the ring, he shed his grief and took up arms against a world that was indifferent. 

Viktor had once mentioned it, that ring. He had worn it when they first met, when Viktor had turned his home into a raging inferno. He had worn it when they fought, but after that he no longer brandished it. 

Viktor had said, “I thought you were a married man.” Then with long, metal fingers wiped at a metal leg prosthetic with focused diligence. The dim light of the workshop glowed warm against him. “But perhaps I was wrong.” 

Jayce had been taken by surprise then, turning from his own work to peer at Viktor who sat quietly on his couch, his dark, messy hair still a shade wet from rain. He only visited on rainy days. That was their quiet truce. 

“I didn’t expect you to notice,” Jayce had said, setting his screwdriver down. It rolled toward the edge until he stopped it then placed it facing up. “I’m not married, but my grandmother was.” Viktor lifted his head, looking at him silently as if trying to discern where the joke was in that statement. He could find none because there wasn’t one. Jayce smiled, laughing softly. “Don’t give me that look. The reason I wore it was because she was ill. I look like my grandfather so she only recognized me as him. It was my grandfather’s wedding ring.” 

A quiet hum of thought escaped Viktor. 

“I stopped wearing it after she passed away, right after I returned to Piltover from destroying that blasted crystal. You know, I really was a poor guy, man. I was literally living off anything I could get when, bam! You had to go and destroy my home. What do you have to say for yourself? Beating up a poor, helpless guy like me who has medical bills to pay. You have no shame, Viktor. No shame.” Jayce had just been teasing him and Viktor had caught onto this. They spent the rest of the evening on sharp-witted banter that stung their lips and warmed their hearts. 

There was no one who made Jayce feel both comfortable and irritated at the same time as Viktor had. Their strange moments of truce and their days of constant headbutting. He missed them. He would miss them. It made him slightly sick to think that they would never happen again. 

Perhaps Horace’s presence reminded Jayce of Viktor and that’s why he had felt comforted by him. He helped eased the process of letting go yet there was always a weight on his chest. Horace noticed, he was sure but the man was too polite to inquire about it. Jayce knew he was waiting until he was ready to talk. They both knew he wouldn’t talk about the things that really bothered him to those hospital counselors.

It was two days before they released him that Jayce told Horace his story and plight. Horace, the ever wonderful listener that he was had pulled up a chair beside Jayce’s bed. His clipboard, which was never apart from him, sat forlornly on a small table nearby. He, with those dark, brooding eyes of his regarded Jayce with gentleness. Horace never once wavered, listening to Jayce’s story through the fading light of evening and into the void of night. 

He started with how he was born. 

It wasn’t an amazing story. It was probably something common, unamazing.

His mother was a naive Piltovian girl who fell for the tall, dark and handsome Zaunite. She often told him that they were truly in love, but despite that he left them just before she gave birth to Jayce. His mother developed a severe case of postpartum depression. They lived with his his grandparents who took care of them while his mother locked herself away in her room, away from Jayce and the world. Then when he was about five or six she had left, telling Jayce she would find his father and they would live together. He never saw her again and so grew up with his grandparents. He told Horace about how he used to be shunned in school for being a mutt.

“Funny,” Jayce snickered. “It’s funny how they all soon forget when you become successful.” He closed his eyes and he could feel Horace watching him as he always did. “No one questioned my origins as soon as I came back a hero. Oh, a true Piltovian could only pull that off! A true Piltovian is intelligent and righteous!” Disdain twitched at Jayce’s lips but he calmed himself, shaking his head tiredly when Horace peered at him with concern. 

His grandfather passed away from cancer just before Jayce graduated high school. His grandmother took it hard, but she was strong. She was always strong and Jayce had always loved her. They would always be his true parents. 

A year after that his grandmother fell. He could still remember the day he got the call from his cousin Dale. Dale told him she had collapsed while they had been out shopping for groceries to celebrate Jayce’s first completed year of college. She had suffered a stroke, the doctors said. 

They diagnosed her with dementia soon after when they saw the symptoms. Jayce was going to drop out of college to work and pay the medical bills but his professor had stopped him, offering him a paid internship in his lab at the university. He took it then worked another job on the side. 

As the days went on and a year passed, her dementia had worsened so much that she no longer recognized Jayce. It was then he started wearing his grandfather’s ring. It calmed her and so he pretended to be his grandfather. He took off his glasses and started to use contacts despite hating them. He pushed his hair back and wore different clothes even though they were uncomfortable. He was his grandfather even though he wasn’t. All this for her sake because he loved her more than anything. Then, it wore him down.

He had begun dating a rich Demacian woman. She helped soothed his heart for the moment. It was of course a fling but Jayce still took comfort in it willingly. He knew she was already married and so by the end of that year she returned to Demacia to live with her husband, leaving Jayce money to help pay the hospital bills and college in an act of kind-heartedness. He remembered how he cried that day she handed him the card and the information on how to access the account she left him. He was definitely losing it on the macho factor there. She had laughed in that lovely way she always did then kissed him with those tender lips. She had been his first lover and though he knew it couldn’t last long it didn’t stop him from feeling love for her. They still wrote each other even now. He was sure by the time he left the hospital another letter would be waiting for him to reply to. 

He spent the next year finishing that internship and had established a small reputation for himself. A young but bright scientist and inventor looking for opportunities to throw his name out there. He then purchased his shop. Jayce Techmaturgics. Not exactly the most creative thing but it was as professional as he got. 

Money became a problem again after another year. His grandmother’s bills had increased and his shop wasn’t doing so well. He took work where he could get it, doing what few commissions he could scrap with little pay. When he got that commission for the arcane crystal he was nearly jumping for joy at the news. Finally some recognition! Finally some decent pay!

Then Viktor came and so did his grand ideas about his Glorious Evolution. Though intrigued, Jayce refused his offer. He couldn’t risk this job. Viktor could only offer him ideals and a life that wasn’t his. He didn’t want them and so Viktor (“Like a little kid,” Jayce added with laughter) destroyed his lab and took the crystal. 

Jayce had been furious. Beyond furious. 

Most people thought he fought back against Viktor and the state because he was being righteous and standing up for his people, but really it was just a personal grudge. Could you really blame him? Some person who you don’t even know comes up and blows up your whole life’s work. And on top of that, the state tells you they can’t help, but oh! They can pay for the repairs for his shop! What about the crystal! What about his grandmother! 

He went from desperation to infuriated then channeled it all into his work. He would have his revenge and he did. Everyone saw it and everyone praised him for being brave and standing up to those Zaun filth. 

He didn’t care about all that. He wasn’t noble and he wasn’t a hero. He was just a guy. A selfish man who had snapped from all the pressure the world was weighing on him. 

His grandmother died when he returned to Piltover. He had visited her that morning he returned, dropping his hammer off at the reception desk without much care to the outrage the receptionist had barked out. His left hand had felt numb on the way up. He was holding her’s when she died. Despite the numbness he felt her leave as if through his body she had traveled and suddenly as if his soul realized through its core that he was alone. 

Suddenly he was without purpose. 

“That’s how I feel now,” Jayce said, folding his left hand into his lap then clasping at the blanket. He lifted his eyes to meet Horace’s and he hadn’t been aware that he had placed his hand on top of Jayce’s, awkward but comforting. He smiled and Horace frowned. 

“All my life I’ve been living for other people, living as other people. Having a purpose, my grandmother was what always kept me going in life. After my grandmother died, Viktor had become that purpose despite being on opposite sides. Silly, I know, but I embraced the role I was given without thinking. I had enjoyed it so much I got lost in it. I didn’t think of what I’d do if Viktor were to disappear. I’m an idiot, huh?” 

Horace muttered in some indistinguishable dialect then with a firm tone said, “No one thinks that far, idiot. We all lose sight of ourselves sometimes. You’ll find yours soon enough. There’s no need to rush things.” Jayce wasn’t entirely reassured yet he did feel better having spilled everything to his friend. He was almost embarrassed for having kept him so long. 

“I..” Horace hesitated. “I too had been without purpose until recently. My family have always been apart of the military, the police, or whatever you’d like to call whatever Zaun has as an armed force for its ‘protection’. Though my father died in my earlier years as a teen, he had always said to not lead or follow, make your own path. My brothers were always sure of their path and I never was. 

I didn’t decide to work as a doctor until a few years ago. I had always taken life instead of preserving it. I guess it doesn’t relate much to your life,” Horace spoke quickly now, as if embarrassed from sharing anything about his own life. Jayce figured he was trying to return the favor and he appreciated it. “But, well, we all find our way sooner or later.” 

Jayce laughed at his awkwardness. “Thanks, doc. You’re sweet.” Horace face colored at the compliment. “Quiet,” he snapped, trying to compose himself once more. They spent the next few moments together quietly. Horace was thinking and Jayce was trying not to. 

“Thanks.” Jayce said looked down at his hand, breathing softly.He meant it and Horace knew. He smiled that tender smile of his and rose to his feet. “You’re welcome, Jayce.” 

The next couple days passed by quicker than Jayce would have liked. He hardly saw Horace which was usually the case on most days. The man was very busy and capable. Everyone liked a capable man. Jayce spent this time walking around or calling up Caitlyn to learn of the status of Zaun. Particularly Viktor’s acolytes. Not a peep from them. They all had disappeared and along with it Viktor’s research. Some men from the Zaunite military had apparently showed up at Viktor’s old lab and found the place already cleaned out. Caitlyn had her suspicions that wasn’t entirely the case as did Jayce. Perhaps their military had already taken the information for themselves. Or maybe someone else did. Another enemy of Viktor or some other. 

It all made Jayce a bit restless. 

After his call with Caitlyn he had jumped out of bed for another walk. He could hear the sound of phones going off and the hospital chatter quietly. He saw his reflection in the polished tiles of the floor and thought how nice it would be to finally get out of this cursed place. No offense to Horace. He understood his dislike for hospitals and that was enough. 

He saw Sarah, one of the nurses he had gotten to know over the last couple weeks, scurrying about in a hurry, her short blond hair bouncing about with her movements. For a moment he appreciated the fact that he didn’t work in a hospital. Jayce moved on passed her toward Angie, another nurse who was a dark haired youth just fresh out of college. He smiled at her and he could see the color of her face darken and her eyes gleam with girlish delight. He could almost hear Horace’s sound of disgust. His smile widened and he leaned over the counter, smiling at her from over the computer monitor. She was giggling. 

Heh, good to know he still had charm even without one arm.

“Angie, do you know what the long distance number is for the hospital?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. She calmed her giggling to shoot him a charming smile. “Nine-one, love,” she said then blushed when he winked at her. “Thanks, I’ll treat you to lunch sometime.” Jayce pushed himself off the counter and headed down to the courtyard again. 

Today was one of the last days of summer. Jayce could feel the heat as he passed by an open window. The sun was high in the sky and he gave himself a moment to think about whether or not he really did want to go outside. He wasn’t particularly fond of hot weather. 

He was about to walk back to his room when he felt something tugging on his gown. He looked down to find two large brown eyes staring back at him. Jayce squinted at the kid. “Uh, what’s up?” The boy’s mouth fell open, agape. Jayce pushed his chin up, helping the boy close his mouth with a low chuckle. “What? Did I scare ya? I know I don’t have an arm but c’mon man, it ain’t that scary,” Jayce reasoned. The boy’s mouth opened then closed as if he were speaking but no sound came out. Jayce cocked his head to the side, about to speak once more when the boy flinched, hurrying to hide behind him. He buried his face against his leg, peeking out into the hall nervously. 

Jayce frowned then lifted his gaze to see a young man with a boyish face walk toward them. He was shorter than Jayce and by no means intimidating but something in the way he walked with such a purposeful gait and a large smile felt almost threatening. His features were soft, skin pink with warmth of life and curling hair like a cherub that cradled his face in short, auburn locks. Everything about him was soft except for his eyes. There was something hard in them, Jayce noticed. Unlike his dear Horace whose features were all sharp angles and hard lines; his eyes were always soft. The man couldn’t hurt a fly. 

The young man strode up to them and Jayce instinctively slipped a hand over the child who clung to him, like a parent protecting their young. 

“Jason, what did I tell you about running off like that? You know mother will worry. I’m sorry if he’s troubling-” The young man caught Jayce’s eye, pausing for a brief moment as something shifted in his gaze. “-you,” he finished. He smiled at Jayce as if he had won the jackpot.

“He wasn’t,” Jayce said firmly, ruffling the kid’s hair reassuringly. He looked at Jayce with big eyes then smiled lopsidedly, revealing some missing baby teeth and the gaps they left behind in his smile. “We were having a nice talk.” Another flicker in the young man’s eyes. He could have sworn disdain. 

“Ah, that’s good. Jason doesn’t usually talk to strangers.” He glanced at the empty space where Jayce had lost his arm then to his face, smiling. He spoke with almost noticeable spitefulness. “I’ll take him now. Come, Jason. Mother’s waiting.” The young man motioned to the boy and Jayce could feel him hesitate. He took the boy, Jason’s hand and nodded to the young man. 

“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along,” Jayce said, feeling the boy squeeze his hand slightly, cold and clammy. He looked into those hard green eyes and thought how uncommon such a hue was around these parts. He didn’t exactly know where green was native to now that he thought of it.

The man faltered slightly then recovered with the grace of a vulture circling its next meal. “Oh, it might upset mother. She’s ill you see, sir; she gets upset easily,” he said in an attempt to smoothly leave the situation. Jayce smiled. “Of course, my grandmother was just like that. Surely though, I can walk you two to your room, right?” He could almost see the young man gritting his teeth and he took great delight in his distress. 

“Of. Course.” The young man turned from them, heels clicking against the polished tiles. “This way.” 

They were off. Jayce could tell he had gotten onto the kid’s nerves, but then again he sucked at trying to be smooth. After all no one could match the smooth king Jayce, hah! 

The room was a couple of floors above. Jayce noticed a slight but almost unnoticeable increase of men in black suits with ear pieces hanging around the floor. Jason’s hand was still cold with nervousness and Jayce wondered what in the heck was going on. What mess did he involve himself in this time? 

They reached the door and it opened before the young man could speak to dismiss Jayce. Another man, still younger than Jayce but just as tall leaned out, large hand on the doorknob. “Ariel, you’re back. You have Jason?” he asked the young man with green eyes. Jayce felt the boy’s grip loosen and he noticed it wasn’t as cold. The man had the same hair as Ariel except shorter, straighter. His eyes were brown though and looked more professional than anything in his grey suit and black tie. 

“I did.” Ariel answered with tight irritation in his boyish voice. The man looked at Jayce and instantly there was recognition in his eyes. However, he did not express it, instead motioned for Jason who instantly let go of Jayce’s hand to join beside him. Some small bit of relief entered Jayce. At least there was one person Jason could trust here. Jayce smiled at the man.

He could see him hesitate then reach out to Jayce, a card in hand. “I’m Michael and these are my brothers. Ariel and Jason.” Michael motioned to them then tucked the card into Jayce’s left hand. Ariel walked past Michael and disappeared with Jason into the dim room. Jayce could see the outline of a bed behind a white curtain in the back. Michael’s hand brushed Jayce’s and a small, unpleasant chill ran up his spine. “Please contact me if you ever need anything that I can do for you.” 

Then he was gone. The door closed and Jayce unable to see Jason anymore. He felt strange, a bit mystified by this encounter. Jayce returned to his room where Horace was waiting for him. He needed to go through some more tests and sign some papers before they could discharge him. He had hidden the card in his pocket to look over later. 

The discharge took forever. 

He had already long exchanged numbers and addresses with Horace and he was still signing papers and answering questions. It was evening by the time it was all finished and Horace sympathized, saying that he knew these things were a pain but they were all necessary for his health. He almost seemed a little more fretful than usual, wrinkles forming along his forehead. 

“Hey, I’ll text you when I get home, dude.” Jayce reassured him, patting Horace on the shoulder then giving him a hug. Horace, as awkward as ever stood there in his embrace until Jayce released him with a laugh. “Let’s get dinner sometime. I’ll show you a real meal that isn’t hospital food.” A slight snicker escaped Horace and he tucked his clipboard beneath his arm, sticking out his hand to Jayce. “Then this real food better be good.” Jayce grinned and shook his hand. 

A deal. 

It was raining when the cab came by to take Jayce home. Puddles had formed little lakes across the streets and wheels rushed through them heading toward unknown destinations. The sky was a worn grey, the kind that was the color of Jayce’s college sweatshirts that he washed too many times. His knee was aching and he had the humor to think it was because of his old bones. The rain made him ache.

He entered the cab, kindly telling the driver his address before melting against the maroon backseat into background noise. He closed his eyes and could still hear the rain over the radio, a din so loud that it didn’t just make his bones ache. He thought of Viktor and of how he would have waited for Jayce by his shop’s garage, hair dripping wet and golden eyes like glittering star rods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I've had this chapter written for a while now, but I hadn't posted it because it felt.. well, iffy and it still does, but hopefully I'll figure out how to change that later in the future and fix it!


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